


Words, words, words

by isa_belle



Series: Dream smp [11]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: A little fluff at the beginning, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Child Abandonment, Daddy Issues, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), mostly angst tho, philza minecraft’s a+ parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29771040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isa_belle/pseuds/isa_belle
Summary: We weren’t toys, Phil. We weren’t entertainment. We were your children.or,, thoughts from a boy in a prison cell.
Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Dream smp [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068152
Comments: 28
Kudos: 191





	Words, words, words

**Author's Note:**

> Philza Minecraft be a good dad challenge. please sir, im starved for sbi content

The tundra is a cold place of residence. The shutters on Techno’s windows do decently to lock out the chill, but it still leaks in through cracks in wood, biting and icy. 

Phil is curled by the fire, wings wrapped loosely around himself. He’s never been a fan of the cold. Not for any particular reason, he just prefers the warmth, the sunlight of summer and clear blue skies, picnics and grass and going outside with less than twenty layers on. But Technoblade lives in the tundra, and where Techno goes, Phil follows.

He absently watches the flames in the fireplace dance and crackle. Orange and white flicking around, wood slowly going black with char. He’s comfortable here, with Techno, in this house. He feels content. 

In this house, he doesn’t think of things that have gone wrong. No wayward sons, no dead ones. Just cold walls and warm fireplaces. It’s a shield from thoughts he’d rather not have. No wars or crying children screaming their throats bloody with words of betrayal. Just isolated peace, turtles and bees and quiet. Phil likes the quiet. 

(In Phil’s experience, if you ignore things, they go away.)

The stairs creak as Techno enters the room, silent. He nods in greeting and Techno nods back, gentle smile. His hair is mussed from sleep, the sun just breaking the horizon outside the windows. The blade looks awfully comfy, and the thought makes Phil chuckle. He’s lucky to see this side of Techno, soft, vulnerable. Not many people get to, he can probably count them all on one hand. (Phil, Wilbur, Ranboo, Tom-)

“Morning, mate.”

“Good mornin’”

(They  _usually_ go away.)

They mill around the kitchen for a bit, soft voices and making breakfast. Phil gets off the chair and makes tea, Techno calls him old. It’s a familiar routine, it’s a familiar warmth. He settles into it comfortably. He’s relaxed. No pressure in these walls, just friendship. 

There’s a knock at the door and they both freeze. 

(The thing about living in isolation is that people don’t typically visit. People typically don’t know  _ where  _ to visit. Knocks on the door are rare. So, a simple wrap on the wood is enough to get the men in fighting positions.)

Techno puts the mug he was holding on the counter, cautiously approaches the wooden door, one hand on his blade, one on the doorknob. He pushes it open. 

No one stands outside. The wind blows some snow in and Phil shivers as it howls. Techno looks at the ground, bends down, and picks something up. His eyes widen just a fraction, not enough to alarm someone who doesn’t know him, but Phil knows Techno well, and Techno isn’t shocked easily. 

"What is it?”

Techno shuts the door, leans against it. “It’s a book.” He holds it up. The cover says ‘From Tommy.’ Phil’s brow twists in confusion, and a little old anger stirs up in him. 

(Why would Tommy send that here? When he knows how they feel? And if he sent it where is he? Why isn’t he at the door?)

“Be careful with that.”

“I will. I mean, I don’t- it’s Tommy’s handwriting.”

“Then where is he?”

Techno eyes the door. 

“I don’t know.”

He holds out the book for Phil to take. “Can you read it? I don’t want to- I mean, I can, but it’s-“

Phil puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve got it, mate.” Techno gives a tight smile of appreciation. Tommy is a sore spot for them both, but Techno especially. 

He takes the book gingerly from Techo’s hands. Techno lets go like it burns him. “I’m gonna go upstairs.” He says, then flees the scene leaving Phil in an empty kitchen that still smells like food and warmth. 

He walks outside, examines the place the book was left. There are no footsteps. There’s no anything. He’d think it was Ghostbur but he hasn’t visited in a while. Phil knows exactly why that is. 

( _“_ _ I feel this! _ _”_ Cracky and empty in the rain.)

He traces the writing on the front with a finger. Then he flips the cover, reads the first page. He’s startled to see that it starts with his name. 

> ~~ Dad ~~ Phil. 
> 
> Hey. How are you? I hope you’re doing well. I hope you’re happy. 
> 
> I don’t know if you’re reading this, or how you would be reading this. 
> 
> I’m writing from Pandora’s vault. Y’know, that giant prison? Yeah. 
> 
> There was. Um. There was a security breach. I’m stuck in here for a little while, with Dream. It’s fine. I’m. I’ll be fine. 
> 
> (Sorry for my handwriting, my hands are just a bit shaky, is all. I don’t like it here. There’s too much blackstone, too much lava, not enough space.)
> 
> I kinda figured I’d take this time to get some stuff out. Before you read this just know that I’m trying to understand you. I’m sorry if it comes off mean. I’m not really in a good place at the moment. Ranboo seems to believe that writing things out helps. Figured Dream has the books, might as well give it a shot. 
> 
> I have a lot to get off my chest. I don’t really know how to start this?
> 
> ~~Um. Okay. So.~~ Here goes. 
> 
> Did you know that the day I turned eight Wilbur cried? 
> 
> Just broke down sobbing in the middle of dinner. You promised you’d be back for my birthday, but you got caught up in adventure. I wasn’t happy about it, devastated really. But Wilbur was crushed. I didn’t know what to do, I was a baby, I just hugged him. 
> 
> _ It’s your fault. _ That’s what he said. “Phil always fucking does this.”
> 
> That was the first time I heard him call you by your first name. I don’t remember the last time he called you dad. I don’t remember the last time you were. 
> 
> From then on Wilbur was more my father than you were. You showed up sometimes, gave us gifts and little smiles. Wil hated it, told me not to fall for it, that trinkets weren’t enough to make up for abandoning your kids. I get it. But I still loved the toys you bought me, even if you weren’t really my dad. Because that’s sort of the thing, right? You’re not really my dad in much past blood. Wilbur did all the things that dads do. 
> 
> Wilbur is the one who taught me how to read. Wilbur is the one who taught me how to fight. Wilbur is the one who taught me how to stand up for myself.Wilbur is the one who taught me how to be kind. Wilbur is the one who taught me how to ride a bike. Wilbur is the one who taught me what I could become, what the world could be. Wilbur is the one who taught me how to play guitar, and to build a sword, and to write a story, and to joke around, and to light a fire, and to make a friend, and to trust a brother, and to believe in something. Wilbur is the one who taught me how to love. Wilbur is the one who taught me what it’s like to be loved. Not you. You didn’t teach me jack shit old man, you just came and left and came and left like kids are something to be borrowed and returned on a whim. We weren’t toys, Phil. We weren’t entertainment. We were your children.
> 
> Did you ever really give a shit? Why give me a home just to leave it? I have half a mind to stop calling you my father at all, Wilbur did. Moved on, left you behind. (Never really got over it, lived his life so afraid that everything else would leave him too that he’d rather destroy the things he loved than let them slip away. He did it to L’manburg. He did it to me too.) 
> 
> What does Techno have that we didn’t? The blood god carries more intrigue than raising two kids, I suppose. But we didn’t choose to be born, did we, Phil? That’s one thing you can’t fucking blame us for. 
> 
> Maybe you’re right to say the rest is my fault, though. Maybe war  _is_ the fault of the soldier. 
> 
> (But why am I blamed for the orders I followed? Why am I blamed for the war I was baited into by a grown fucking man?
> 
> I never meant to hurt anyone. Why does everything I touch get ruined? Why does everything I love leave?)
> 
> I’m sorry. I feel like I’m the only one who’s actually sorry. 
> 
> I’m just a child, you know. Well-do you know? 
> 
> I don’t think you could tell me my birthday with a gun to your head. That’s funny, isn’t it? (It isn’t.)
> 
> Why do you talk to me like I’m a stranger? I know I basically am, but you could at least have the decency to pretend that being your son means something, that living in your stupid fucking empty house with Wilbur wasn’t for nothing. (Would that make me feel better? Would pretending ease the sting of abandonment?)
> 
> (You fucked me up, you know. Dream and Techno and Wil did their fair share. But you started it.)
> 
> I called out for you when I got locked in this hellhole. God knows fucking why. I was so scared. It’s ingrained into me I think. To reach for you. I hate it. Do you hate it too?
> 
> Would you come? I know you can’t hear me yell from in here, no one can, that’s kind of the point, but if you could, would you come? To rescue me, to say I told you so. You don’t have a great track record. Would you just keep sitting comfortably in Technoblade’s homey little cabin, warm and content?
> 
> Sam is more reliable than you. Sam is nicer too. Calling him made sense. But he didn’t answer. He left me, just like everyone else. I don’t know why I thought it would be different. I’m starting to believe that Wilbur was right when he said no one was on our side. (Except there’s no ‘our’ now, is there? Just 'my.’) 
> 
> I just wanted someone who could fix it. I don’t want to be here with him. I don’t want to be here. 
> 
> Things were supposed to be better. Dream was locked away. I kept thinking, Why can’t I heal, why do I still feel like this? I came here for closure and now I’m stuck. Am I cursed or something? What did I do, Dad, how do I fix it?
> 
> I didn’t mean to. I feel so helpless, everything is just spiraling and spiraling. 
> 
> What do you want from me?
> 
> You struggle with commitment, that much is obvious. You can’t decide if you want kids or you don’t, you can’t decide if you care or you don’t, you can’t decide if you’re ready to be responsible or not. You’re not loyal, not to anything but your precious Blade. 
> 
> (That’s not fair, I know. He’s more than a weapon. But these words aren’t for him. They’re meant for you.
> 
> Techno is a good man. He deserves better than you but he doesn’t know it because he gets a version of Philza that nobody else does. A good one, a gentle one, one that fucking sticks around. 
> 
> Techno was kind to me. I know there’s shit between us now but kindness isn’t something I forget, though he may think that. Kindness is something I commit to memory. It’s rare. Even I need things to hold on to. Sometimes music discs aren’t enough. Sometimes memories suffice.)
> 
> Killing your son must’ve taken a decent toll on you. (Can you even call him your son if you spent your whole life not even sparing him a glance. It was your blade, Phil, that ran through him. No corruption, no president, no government.  _ You_ _._ )
> 
> You know I actually felt relief when I saw you for the first time. I thought, maybe he’s actually come to help this time, got all hopeful. But no. Of course not. How silly of me. How fucking deluded. 
> 
> You killed him. He needed help. But that’s not what you do, is it? You’re all easy ways out and causal fathering. That’s not how it works. That’s not how being a parent works. 
> 
> "It’s strange to lose a son,” you said to me, rain slicking off our backs at Wilbur’s grave. 
> 
> (Rain is supposed to be poetic. To me it just felt wet.)
> 
> Strange. Not painful, not awful. It sticks in my head the way you said it.  _Strange_ _._ It was an oddity to you, not a tragedy. 
> 
> His death fucked with me, I was wrecked. I lost the only person who promised he’d always be there to protect me. Just another mark on the list of people who left me in the dust. I felt like I was being crushed by the weight of the world, Phil, breathing was a chore,  _being_ was a chore. I needed a dad, I had needed a dad my whole childhood. I was shattered. Wil’s death shattered me. And you called it strange. 
> 
> Oh but the novelty’s worn off now, hasn’t it? Won’t mind if you lose another. Not if it’s me. 
> 
> Sometimes I think about the fact that I love you still. It makes me sick, it makes me feel like a traitor to Wil’s memory, a traitor to myself and my dignity.
> 
> But even Wilbur loved you, despite himself. You have a dumb fucking charm to you that makes it easy to forget you’re an asshole 
> 
> I’d forgive you, if you apologized, probably. If you meant it. I’m not very strong-willed anymore. My will died when I was exiled. 
> 
> (My  _Wil_ died when you killed him. Haha.)
> 
> Speaking of, why didn’t you visit? 
> 
> Techno goes into retirement and you practically move in, I’m cast out by the one place I believed was my home and you didn’t even come. Techno came more than you did, and Techno came to mock me. 
> 
> I still have the emerald. It’s in my enderchest, in my house. I can’t reach for it now. I don’t know if it would be comforting or not. I was ecstatic when I received it, rushed to tuck it away so Dream couldn’t take it from me. I thought it meant you cared. I thought it meant you loved me. That I was somehow finally deserving of your love. (Wilbur always tried to drill into me that love isn’t about deserving, but even he lost the plot somewhere along the way) Now I think it was just a hollow gesture. You can’t put a bandaid over a bullet wound Phil, and that’s all it was, that’s all you do,  _bandaids. _
> 
> I think that you didn’t care. Because if you did, you’d have come, but you didn’t, so you don’t. Simple right? deductive reasoning. And I can see it in your eyes too, you don’t hide it as well as you think you do (do you even try to hide it?) The disinterested content, vague distaste. I know I put it there. Even though I don’t know why. 
> 
> What did L’manburg ever do to you? It was a piece of fucking land. Wilbur built it to keep us safe, to give us a home, give  _me_ a home. It was the first real home I ever had. You never even got to see it. 
> 
> It was beautiful. Even after Schlatt corrupted it, it was beautiful. Even now. 
> 
> We had these walls, Eret and Fundy helped build them. They were tall and mighty, like a frame to our nation. It used to make my chest swell to see them, I felt safe in those walls.There was a lake too, bluest water I’d ever seen, and I’d seen a lot of lakes before. It glittered in the sun, the water was always perfect. Tubbo and I used to mess around in it. Piss Wilbur off when we got him wet. He would smile, though, help us fish. Sometimes he’d dive right in and splash us back, grinning like he’d never been happier. 
> 
> There was a field full of wildflowers, yellow and blue and pink and red. Niki used to braid them into crowns, place them on our hair gently, to not break them. We’d dance around the field, heads thrown back, brilliant laughter so loud it echoed off the walls. 
> 
> We had a fire pit for the nighttime, told stories and sang songs, and watched the flames flicker. Talked about what our purpose was, with this whole revolution thing. Talked about the things we loved, the things we lost, the things we had to lose, our reasons to fight. Wil played guitar, tried to teach me and Fundy how to. 
> 
> We had a van, Declaration of Independence on the wall, potion bottles in the windows. 
> 
> I know it sounds stupid. It doesn’t sound like much. Just a van and a lake and a wall. But it meant everything to me. It was a physical representation of what it meant to have a home, to have people who loved you and wouldn’t leave. The sun was brighter in those walls, the sky was bluer the birds sang sweeter. I see it when I blink, I see it in my dreams. Just out of reach, always just out of reach. It’s torture. I miss it like nothing else. (I miss Wilbur too, the person that Wilbur was in heat of that revolution. He was strong and brave and smart and witty and I was so fucking proud to be his brother. I was so proud to stand up for something, plant my feet in the ground and say “you move” for the first time. It felt like being born again, being with him in that place. It felt like freedom. It felt like happiness. That’s what New L’manburg meant to me too, same plot of land, last ties to the brother you took from me, the brother I loved. And you burned it to the fucking ground, you took that too.)
> 
> Did you know what he did to me in exile? Did you know and still side with him?
> 
> Every day he showed up in that stupid fucking mask, “put your things in the hole, Tommy.” Stick of TNT,  _boom_ _._ Time to start over again. I had no one. No one except him, he liked to remind me. He’d hit me and then joke with me. He’d yell and then laugh. He’d give me things and take away others. It was so confusing. But he showed up. No one else showed up. 
> 
> (You didn’t show up.)
> 
> I pissed him off bad, just before I came to Techno’s. I hid something. He didn’t like that. He had to know how to keep me under control, annoying little bug I was, and secrets made that difficult, privacy made that difficult, rebellion made that difficult, no matter how small. 
> 
> It was just a few ender pearls and pictures of my friends. In a chest under my house. I didn’t want him to take them. I wanted to have something that could be mine. 
> 
> He blew up everything. He saw the little room and the little chest, the pictures of Tubbo and the pearls, left a crater where it all used to be. I hate craters. I hate TNT. 
> 
> The tent, Logstedshire, the nether portal. All gone, all rubble, charred. I can still smell the ash of the explosion, I can still feel it clogging my lungs. Ghostbur gave me a picture of New L’manburg, I watched it  _burn_ _._ (Foreshadowing, I guess.) 
> 
> He cut me off, I wasn’t to go to the nether, I wasn’t to see anyone. Because “sorry didn’t cut it” no matter how many frantic apologies fell from my lips it wasn’t enough. I hid something from him and that made me the bad guy, irrefutably. It made me selfish and ungrateful and a liability. How dare I abuse his trust? We were friends, right? Friends don’t lie.
> 
> When he left and I built a tower so high my head was in the clouds. I almost jumped. 
> 
> I wanted to jump. 
> 
> But I didn’t. Because I’m a fool. Because I’m a coward. I went to Techno’s, clothes singed and torn, skin burned and cut. Trekked through the snow in rags, passed out in his basement. He took me in, even after everything. And I forgave him. For what he did to Tubbo, to L’manburg. 
> 
> But the whole time I was there I could never really get comfortable. There was always a little  _unless_ hanging over my head. “He’s with me  _unless_ you want to call in that favor.” 
> 
> How could I trust someone who would hand me over to Dream the second he asked? When he never said he actually cared for me anything beyond an asset. He told me he thought I was weak until I made myself useful. I came to his house half dead and he assessed my usefulness. How can we be the ones who used him? 
> 
> I almost killed myself in exile. 
> 
> Did you know that? (Of course you didn’t.)
> 
> I tried. A few times. Nearly jumped off a pillar, as you know. Let myself get hit a few too many times by zombies. Didn’t eat. 
> 
> Every day I woke up drowning. 
> 
> How does that make you feel Phil? To think of me, your son, little Tommy, dancing on the edge of a cliff over a pool of lava, sixteen and bruised and ragged. To think of me staring at those red depths, watching the bubbles pop, thinking of Wilbur and his peace with envy, desperate and alone and empty. 
> 
> Does your stomach churn? Do your veins burn with hot anxiety at the thought of losing your only remaining child?
> 
> But no, that’s not really true, is it? Techno is your kid too. More than we’ll ever be, more than  _I’ll_ ever be. Good for him. Fuck him. 
> 
> It doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t think Dream will let me die. I’m “too much fun.”
> 
> If you knew any of that all I have to say is this: I know you don’t love me Phil but fuck, I thought you’d at least try to be a decent human being. I’d say I’m surprised but it’s difficult to not expect you to disappoint me. 
> 
> If not, it’s not entirely your fault. Still is though, a bit. I know I’m not very good at hiding things. And I can say whatever the hell I want about you, but you’re a smart man, Philza Minecraft. 
> 
> This cell is tight. I can hear Dream breathing. He said he was my friend. I don’t want to believe him. 
> 
> A week is a long time. 
> 
> Fun fact about me, Phil. You won’t know this (because you don’t know a single thing about me, do you?) I’m claustrophobic. 
> 
> Yeah, ever since the Final Control Room small spaces make me nauseous and itchy. Not too fond of lava either. Or Dream. You can imagine why my current situation isn’t ideal. 
> 
> Dream said we should try to bond. I don’t know what to do here. I’m tired. I can’t talk anymore, my throat hurts, I’ve been talking for too long.
> 
> (Just because I’m loud doesn’t mean I’m angry, you know. Everyone always thinks that’s why I talk. People yell when they’re sad too. Loud voices make for attention. People  see loud voices. 
> 
> If I’m not loud what am I? If you steal my voice you steal me. Without a voice, I’m as good as dead. With one I’m a nuisance.)
> 
> I’m sick of this. I’m sick of you and I’m sick of me. 
> 
> I don’t care if you like me ( _ a lie. _ ) I’m a big man and I raised myself and I don’t need your approval. 
> 
> Why don’t you like me?
> 
> This is starting to feel less like a means of catharsis and more like one-sided 20 questions. I might give this to you. If I get out of here. (I don’t think I’ll get out of here.)
> 
> I should write to Techno too, probably. To say I’m sorry. I am. I didn’t mean for it to end up like this. I’ll explain myself. 
> 
> Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Not a plead, just an explanation. 
> 
> I wish I could say all this stuff out loud. I wish it was easy to say. I wish you would listen. 
> 
> But you’ll never see this. I’m probably gonna die in this cell. If Dream doesn’t kill me, I might. 
> 
> I just hope you know how I feel. 
> 
> I’m sorry. I love you, even if it’s confusing and messy. 
> 
> -Toms

As soon as he’s read the pages addressed to him Phil keels over and vomits into the snow. Tears burn his eyes. Bile burns his throat. Regret burns his chest. 

The words scrawled on the paper hurt like nothing else but he knows he deserves every last one of them. He  _ knows  _ he fucked up. He never knew how bad. 

He spits again and walks back inside the house. The warm isn’t cozy anymore. It’s hot and sticky. It feels like a betrayal, that he’s sitting in a warm house while his son rots in a prison with the man who ruined his life. 

(The man Phil worked with,  _trusted_ _._ )

He isn’t as smart as Tommy gives him credit for. He didn’t know, he swears he didn’t know. If he did he would have stopped it.

(Right?)

It’s difficult to mend broken trust, especially when it’s been so long broken. You can’t just glue a shattered pot back together and hope it won’t cave. It might not even be possible at all, to heal this wound, to fix his mistakes. And though it’ll sting, if that’s true, he’ll respect it. He needs to atone for his sins, and he will. 

But he has to start somewhere, yeah? You can’t fix something by leaving it smashed on the ground. You need to pick it up. A rescue seems like a good place for that. His son needs him, and he’s gonna try to be there for once. 

He takes the book upstairs and gently places it on the floor outside Techno’s room. There are pages for him too, and he needs to read them. He knocks lightly then grabs his coat from the wall, pulls it on, and heads out into the cold.

Phil’s going to try to take some responsibility. He’s going to go find his son. And he’s going to make Dream regret ever laying a finger on him. 

It’s not going to be easy, but things that are worth it never are. He’s gonna show Tommy that he can change, that Tommy can live in a world where he’s safe. Whatever it takes. 

He shuts the door behind him and the warmth goes with it. For once cold is a comfort. 

**Author's Note:**

> would you believe me if i said i wrote this on accident? it just sorta happened. 
> 
> for real though, thanks for reading folks. if you enjoyed it, i implore you to leave a comment and make my day :D
> 
> i hope you all had a lovely day
> 
> Byee


End file.
